Page 93 of The Bad Brother
But he is and he’s standing less than six feet away.
“Ethan.” Hand still in my bag, I grip my keys. “How’d you get in here?”
“I—” Shaking his head, he takes a step in my direction. Let’s out a soft sigh of frustration when I counter the move by taking a step back. “You left your spare parking pass at the condo when you left. I just?—”
“Left?” I bark it out on a laugh. “Did you just say when Ileft?” Shaking my head, I pull out my keys. “I didn’t leave, Ethan. You stole my condo andthrew me out.”
When I say it, his brow furrows like I just said the craziest thing he’s ever heard. “Sloane...” He says my name carefully, like I actually mightbecrazy. “I know things have gotten a little out of hand but?—”
“First Ileftand now things are alittle out of hand?” Keys gripped in my hand, I quickly look for my car over his shoulder. It’s parked five slots down, directly behind him. “You?—”
“I know what I did.” Changing tactics, Ethan holds up his hands like I’m being unreasonable. Like he’s trying to contain me. “I got cold feet. I lost my head for a second, but I think we’vebothdone some things in this relationship that we wish we could take back.”
“Oh yeah?” I shake my head on another scoffing laugh. “What did Idoexactly?”
“You fucked my brother,” he reminds me quietly, just the right amount of hurt, tinging his tone. Holding his hand out again, he shakes his head. “But I love you, Sloane. When I saw you at the club, yesterday, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I’min lovewith you. That’s why I was at Jensen’s bar this morning. I wanted to talk to you. Tell you I’m sorry and that I forgive you for what you did. I’m willing to let it go, if you are. We can start over. You and me. We can?—”
“What about Amy?” He hasn’t mentioned her once. Even though what she did to me was unforgivable, I can’t help but feel a little sorry for her. “A week ago you were demanding your mother’s ring back so you could give it to her and now, it’s like she doesn’t even exist.”
“Amy and I were never going to work,” Ethan says on a firm head shake. “She’s not who I want to be with, Sloane. You are. I want us to?—”
Right—you want to be with me now that you know I’ve been sleeping with your brother…
“Did you stab Orton Redford?”
“Who?” The look of confusion is so genuine, so real, that for a moment, Idofeel crazy. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about? Who’s?—”
“Orton Redford—the man your brother paid to work on his truck.” When I say the wordsyour brother, the brackets around his mouth tighten slightly, for just a moment, before they smooth back into place. “Did you stab him?”
“Is that what he told you?” Ethan’s eyes widen in horrified shock. “Is that what he said—that Istabbedsomeone? When?Whendid I supposedly stab this guy?”
“Last night.” I feel a faint wavering of doubt ripplethrough my gut. Ethan’s confusion looks real. Sounds real. “It happened last night.”
The look of relief he gives me is almost palpable. “I was with Derek and Trey last night, Sloane—you can ask them. We were at the club, we were?—”
“In the cigar lounge?” I finish for him on a tone that tightens those brackets again.
“Look…” He gives me a fast head shake. “What happened with Amy was fucked-up. I don’t even know why I did it. I just?—”
“You did it because she sucks better dick than me, remember?” I’m being mean now. Petty—and I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t feel good.
There are those brackets again.
They show up every time he loses control of the conversation. Every time I don’t respond the way I used to.
“Someone attacked Jensen last Thursday,” I tell him, not giving him a chance to recover. “Slashed him with a razor blade across the back. He told me you hired someone to do it.”
“This is crazy, Sloane—are you hearing yourself?” Ethan lifts his hands to his head and runs his fingers through it, staring at me like I just spit on him. “First I hired someone to attack my brother and thenIstabbed some old man?—”
“It’s really late and I’m tired.” Suddenly done with the conversation, I aim my fob over his shoulder and start my car. “I’m going home.”
“Home tohim.” The look of utter betrayal on his face is beyond comprehension. “My brother’s not who you think he is, Sloane. There’s a reason he’s no longer welcome in our family,” he tells me, repeating one of the many textmessages he sent me over the course of the day. “He showed up at our parents’ house a few weeks ago and threatened our mother, then a few days later, he showed up at the club and threatened me. You don’t know him. The things he’s done—the things he wasconvictedof doing—make me look like a boy scout.”
I suddenly don’t know what to believe.
Whoto believe.
All I know is that I don’t want to be here anymore.
